The Adventures of RoranHulk and Pals!
by Roran the Hulk
Summary: The harrowing retelling of an epic onslaught against tyranny and common sense! Tears, blood, and willing suspension of disbelief will be shed as Roran-Hulk's use of his incredible muskles with a K has unforeseen consequences for the wildlife of Alagaësia!
1. Battle of RoranHulk!

The Battle of Roran-Hulk!

As the 213 trained (but innocent and conscripted) soldiers advanced upon Roran, Roran summoned his considerably above-average strength, let out a mighty bellow of compassion, and smashed a soldier's helm in, then picked up a spear and stabbed the person, rather untidily, in the throat. He threw the spear at an oncoming soldier, swung his hammer and cleaved another soldier's shield in half, finishing him on the second blow.

Roran's loyal comrades casually lounged by the sidelines. One brave soldier noted, "Hey, look, our most beloved soldier-in-arms is in trouble! He's facing insurmountable odds – again! …Wanna beer?"

"Sure!" said another soldier as he sat down on a rock to enjoy the show.

"189…190…191…ooh, that was a good one!"

As Roran finished his 211th soldier, he pulled his hammer back over his head, swung out in dramatic slow motion at a soldier with inhumanly immeasurable force and goodwill toward mankind, and decapitated his head clean off. The soldier's body fell, also in slow motion, to its knees and then did a faceplant into the ground, but without a face! Roran faced his last opponent and hurled his trusty hammer with a thunderous roar of "RORAN SMASH!" The handle sliced through the soldier's helmeted skull, then ripped through three neighboring farmhouses, finally embedding itself into a tree 500 yards away. Roran was slightly disappointed that the spear didn't return to him, like a magical boomerang, but, he mused philosophically, not everything in Alagaësia could be as awesome as he was.

As the soldier's head flew through the air, it bounced several thousand miles to land right in front of Eragon Shadeslayer's nigh-immortal feet. Eragon, slightly annoyed, nonchalantly kicked the head to the side of the road, where it accidentally struck a fatal blow to a bunny rabbit! As the bunny's fluffy soul faded into the afterlife, Eragon dropped to his knees and screamed in anguish!


	2. Omigod, a Giant Rock!

Omigod, A Giant Rock!

Eragon cradled the lifeless fluffly body of the bunny rabbit, convulsing with desperate sobs. A single sparkling tear ran down his elven cheek onto the lifeless ball of fluff, which fortunately activated his latent healing powers as a dragon rider. But little did he know, as the bunny's newly animated fluff took on an ominous crimson hue, that the creature's soul had already ascended to the afterlife. Instead of an innocent bunny, only the spirit of a Shade watched Eragon evilly from behind glinting maroon eyes. Several miles away Roran, with a leg and an arm missing, stood awkwardly next to his horse, refusing to receive any magical treatment, insisting that the scratches on his comrades were far more important. Unfortunately his heroism and loss of blood activated his power of unconsciousness and he passed out in a pool of his own blood. As he regained consciousness, he examined his reattached limbs and remembered that Eragon had told him, in a very subtle way, that he should practice magic if he randomly in a non-dragon-related way, got magical powers. Instead of a mere pebble to test if he had any magic, he decided to pick up a two- ton boulder to see if he could lift it without the use of his inhuman strength. He stared at the rock for hours before he gave up and went to regroup with the others.

"Hey, Roran, dude, can we like stop at the nearby village of Yg'r'aaele'blethgar? I got a paper cut and it really, like, stings."

Roran, always concerned for the welfare of his comrades, was tempted to rub a handful of dirt on the wound, but then remembered that he had promised to get a souvenir for his darlingest Katrina. Sensing (in a rare moment of clarity) that the bloodstained helm of a slaughtered enemy might not be romantic enough, he agreed to a side trip to Yg'r'aaele'blethgar, where he could buy her something pretty and delicate, like a rapier or possibly a hammer.

As they entered the town of Yg'r'aaele'blethgar, he noticed a shop with a sign hanging that said "Rare Giant Rock!" and decided that that would be the perfect gift. After he had bought the Giant Rock and his comrades' wounds were treated, they left the town of Yg'r'aaele'blethgar. On the way back to the Varden stronghold he studied the Giant Rock, which was crosshatched with delicate veins of fuchsia and amethyst that ran across its smooth, rounded surface. Katrina would be delighted with the Giant Rock, Roran thought to himself – it was almost as pretty and useless as she was! Maybe even prettier!

As they entered the camp, Roran found Katrina meekly awaiting his arrival at the tent with a clean set of clothing and a hot meal ready for him. As they sat down for dinner, Roran pulled out his gift and slammed it down with a loud CLUNK on the table.

"Oh, how … unique, Roran! A pink and purple, plaid rock," she said as she picked it up and examined it in the soft glow of the firelight.

"A _Giant_ Rock," Roran gently reminded her.

That night, Roran gazed adoringly at the sleeping form of Katrina, curled up next to the Giant Rock, her luscious burnished silky shiny luscious copper tresses splayed across its polished surface. The perfect stillness was only slightly marred by a soft squeaking, somewhere not too far away.


	3. The Potato Soup Thickens

The Potato Soup Thickens

"Yes, MASTER," croaked the Orkgal Warbloodviolencechief. "I will obey your every command, Oh Mighty One."

"Yes, you shall," murmured the dark figure, in a cold, high-pitched voice. "Unless you wish for the entirety of Clan Warbloodviolence to be annihilated. For I have shown you the powers I possess."

"Yes, MASTER," the Warbloodviolencechief whimpered. "In all my years of Warbloodviolencechieftainship, I have never seen such horror." He shivered.

"Then we have reached an understanding." Maroon eyes glinted beneath shadowy ears. "You will attack at dawn."

Meanwhile, safe at his encampment, which he had placed on the edge of a bottomless gaping chasm, Eragon paced nervously as a cauldron of potato, kale, and grass (all-vegetarian) soup stewed over the fire. Although his vision was blurred with barely-restrained tears, he suddenly spotted a dark figure, hopping menacingly just beyond the reach of the fire's glow. Eragon reached for his Bright(steel)saber, but then he recognized the unmistakable crimson tint of the creature's fluff, and rushed forward, eyes brimming with tears of relief.

"Oh, Flufflysnuffles!" Eragon shouted with glee as he tearfully embraced the crimson bunny. "You shouldn't wander so far away! I was so worried! But you're safe now!"

Meanwhile, back at the Varden stronghold, Roran asked Katrina, at the top of his lungs, "So, where did the Giant Rock I bought you go? I haven't seen it in a while, and you're not wearing it on that necklace chain I bought you."

"Oh…uh…I moved it to a more secluded area for…uh…safekeeping. Yeah, safekeeping. Uh, and it clashed with my apron." Katrina flashed Roran a smile of worshipful adoration, as she hastily pulled a glove over her right palm.

"What a beautiful glove you're wearing on you're right hand, my darlingest Katrina!" Roran shouted lovingly.

"Oh, well, you know it only takes one hand to wash the dishes! And clean the bloodstains from your clothes! And make dinner!"

"You're amazing, Katrina! I don't know how you do it!" Roran boomed jovially.

"And I don't know how much longer I'll be doing it…" Katrina muttered under her breath.

There was a loud thump from the meat storage room, and she glanced nervously from the door to Roran, hoping that the sound of him sparring with his hammer against a fresh squadron of Varden soldiers would mask the noise.

She glanced back at the pile of potatoes in front of her.

"…because I might just fly away."


	4. Tragedy at Vroengard

Tragedy at Vroengard

Deep in Uru'baen, in the darkest dungeons of Galbatorix's lair, lurked a mysterious doorway covered with a heavy black curtain concealing a hidden room, forbidden to all but the Emperor himself. Only he knew what lay behind this door…

With a grin of anticipation on his face, Galbatorix brushed aside the heavy black swathe of fabric and entered the chamber.

"Oh, my little orphan bunnies," he crooned, "how I've missed you!" He embraced a frenzy of fluff as a horde of gentle baby bunnies bounced gleefully into his arms.

"Now, Snugglewaffles, wait your turn! Hold still, Cuddlecakes! There are more than enough carrots for everyone! Nobunny will go hungry while you're safe in this sanctuary!"

With a tremor of emotion in his voice, Galbatorix murmured to the crowd of fluffy orphans, "I just wish that the rest of the Empire understood me like you do! Ever since … that fateful day… so many years ago…"

…

It was a dark and stormy day, when a young padawan dragon-rider, deeply immersed in translating a large dusty tome of ancient elven theoretical culinary literature, came across a stanza that he didn't quite understand. That line, he thought, seemed out of place – the recipe-spell seemed to be describing the shape of a particular cloud – or was it supposed to be the light and fluffy taste of a certain type of mushroom?

Most unfortunately for him, the padawan on the other side of the table was studying practical applications of divining the True Names of objects. Wanting to impress the attractive young padawan studying literature, she offered to tell him the secret name of the poem he was reading. At that time, Shur'tugal policy dictated that all padawans were instructed to speak only in the ancient language, which made it a most unfortunate coincidence that the true name of this piece of parchment happened to be "Glish'mdila'iamail Ka'boom ," or "Mushroom Cloud."

…

"…I don't remember much about that giant fiery explosion. I was away from Doru Areaba-on-Vroengard that day, or else I would have died as did so many of my Rider buddies. But I do remember that ominously fungus-shaped cloud of ominous red and grey smoke rising over the horizon, sending a shiver of fear, and a craving for mushroom soup, down my spine. All I know is, ever since that day, _I_ have been blamed for that horrible tragedy!"

Suddenly, a pink-colored messenger bunny burst through the curtain into the room, twitching its whiskers urgently.

"What's that you say, Cherryberry Creampuff? A dark shadow has been cast across one of our fluffy brethren? And it is growing ever stronger? Oh no, this is not good! Not good at all!"


	5. Cliff Diving

Cliff Diving

Dragon rider and shade faced each other, separated only by the still-smoking embers of the fire pit, barely glowing in the near-dawn haze.

"Oh, Flufflysnuffles, what's wrong? That gleam of sharp, imperious anger in your crimson-tinted eyes is slightly disconcerting! Is your bunny tummy rumbling? Would you like a sip of yummy yummy soup?

"YOU FOOL, Eragon Shadeslayer! No, I do NOT want to taste your pathetic excuse for a culinary delicacy! I prefer the savory flavor of YOUR BLOOD, or, if I can't get that, the blood of the innocent!" The bunny's cruel, squeaky voice hit Eragon like one of Roran's hammer blows to the head.

"Wh-wh-what…? This isn't the Flufflysnuffles I knew, briefly! What happened to that hippity-hopping and munchity-munching bunny of bygone days?" Eragon croaked in surprise. Then he realized, belatedly "…Wait…you can talk? How many words do you know?"

"My vocabulary far exceeds your own, I prophesy, but at the moment I only require two words: KIIIIIIIILLLL HIIIIMMMM!"

A fearsome battle-cry rang out from the trees at the edge of Eragon's encampment, and a mass of hulking shadows erupted from the dark forest beyond.

Eragon slowly backed to the edge of the cliff and drew his Bright(steel)saber.

"How could you, Flufflysnuffles! I, who raised you from the dead! I, who gave you life again!"

"The bunny you knew died that day! I control this body now, and I have but one purpose: to avenge my brother Durza and KILL YOU!"

Eragon scarcely had time to murmur, confusedly, "Wait…but that's two things…and Durza wasn't a bunny…" before the horde of Orkgals charged.

Eragon calmly raised his Bright(steel)saber and faced the oncoming army. As the entirety of Clan Warbloodviolence rushed toward him in a stampede of thunderous footfalls, shaking the very ground he stood upon, Eragon suddenly yelped, then turned around and ran straight off the edge of the cliff.

Fortunately for Eragon, Saphira was there to catch him, on her back.

Unfortunately for Clan Warbloodviolence, Saphira was there to catch them too, in her mouth.


	6. Name Games

Name Games

Katrina strode nervously into the throne room, where she was greeted by the graceful and queenly Nasuada.

"Welcome, Katrina," she spoke serenely. "I would stand to greet you, but my wounds from the Trial of the Chainsaw Bazookas have yet to heal."

For a moment, Katrina held onto the hope that this summons had nothing to do with the thin gloves that concealed her sweaty palms. "Yes, ah, Your Highness, um…I see that your limbs have reattached themselves quite effectively. Your stamina and natural healing powers are an inspiration to us all."

Nasuada arched an eyebrow. "I hear you have been rather busy lately, hmm? Cooking for Roran – it's quite a task, but I somehow doubt that even he could plow through 15 entire cows in the past week."

Katrina's heart sank. "I-I…well, Roran's appetite…" She bowed her head in defeat. "How much has – _he_ – told you already?"

"Roran? Ha! He knows nothing!" Nasuada was shaking with laughter now, which made one of her arms fall off again. Casually reattaching the limb, she continued, "The man is strong enough to survive my latest punishment for disobedience (50 lashes with a stegosaurus tail and being run over by a bulldozer) but he's living with a new-born dragon _again_ and he doesn't suspect a thing! Talk about brainless brawn!" Nasuada was laughing too hard to notice Katrina's start of surprise. _Nasuada has discovered my secret about the dragon_, she thought to herself, _but at least she doesn't yet know about _him_…_

"So, Katrina my unshakably loyal subject, I must search for suitable living quarters for that rambunctious new friend of yours."

"Yes, I've managed to keep Roran out of the raw meat cellar so far, but he _is_ fond of snacks…"

"Hmm, quite. Oh, and by the way – does your dragon have a name?"

"No – do you have any suggestions?"

…

Katrina watched the pink and purple, plaid dragon prance daintily around the heavily fortified former bunny village, newly converted into an underground bunker.

"I take it you like your new home! Now, we need to decide on a name! How about…Miremel?"

The dragon stuck out its tongue in disgust.

"Well, then what about Ophelia or Lenora? Sorry, Saphira's already taken."

The dragon made a slight retching noise. Katrina continued reading from the list of names that Nasuada had given her.

"Gertrude? Juliet? Helena? Rosalind? Cordelia? Portia? Hermia? Hippolyta? Helena? Hermione? Desdemona? Katrina – wait that's my name, nevermind. Miranda? Viola? Olivia? Hamlettina? Do you like any of these?"

The dragon shook its head and ruffled its scales, then began blowing angry smoke rings around the chamber.

"T'pol? Zelda? Samus? Buffy? Jasmine? Cinderella? Dröttninja? Cherryberry Creampuff? Diamond Esmerelda Aphasia Ravinia Perdita Galinda…"

The smoke rings had dispersed, and now the dragon was shaking helplessly with laughter, sprawled belly-up across the dirt floor.

"Wait." Katrina's jaw dropped as she finally came to a realization. "No way…it's impossible…you're not…" She swallowed.

"Are you…a _boy_ dragon?"

The dragon stopped laughing and let out a squeaky and slightly adorable roar. Katrina blushed.

"Sorry – I just _assumed_ – I mean…the pink and purple plaid, the gleaming and sparkling spikes and perfectly manicured nails…" Katrina faltered as the dragon glared at her with one fluttering, long-lashed eye. "I mean, of _course_ you're a boy dragon! How could I have overlooked such a self-evident fact! You're simply overflowing with macho, muscley manliness! So… boy dragon names… I only know a few, but…" Katrina looked back to the list of names.

"Jura, Hírador, Fundor, Galzra, Briam, Ohen the Strong, Gretiem the Totally Awesome, Whimpermittens the Ferocious, Snufflepuddles, Beroan, Roslarb, Shakespeare, Pendragon, Wolverine, Kamina, Valinor, Erinor, Puff – no, you don't want that name – he had powerful magic and a fearless roar, but a tragic story..."

Katrina continued to list every male dragon name she could think of, but her dragon wanted none of them. Frustrated and exhausted, she sank down to the ground and gazed at the dragon's pink and purple hide.

...And then she thought of the perfect name. She spoke it aloud, and the room resounded with the pure, epic nobility of the word.

The dragon nodded once.


	7. Fli'im Flam

Fli'ïm-Flam

The winds rustled gently as Roran, Eragon, and Saphira alighted on a hill. The city of Fli'ïm glowed several leagues distant, a bright ember under the starry night. Its beauty nearly overpowered Eragon's delicate elven aesthetic sensibilities.

"Let's raze it to the ground!" he shouted enthusiastically.

"I agree!" Roran bellowed with cautious restraint, "But the mission and the welfare of the people of Fli'ïm should always come first. We should get the meat and cheese, _then_ raze it to the ground!" Roran didn't quite comprehend the vital tactical importance of replenishing the Varden's cheese stores ("They are dipping dangerously low – they must be replenished, or the cause will perish!" Nasuada had told him) – but he was rather concerned about his darlingest Katrina's recent behavior.

Lately, her appetite for raw meat had increased alarmingly, and she had been spending less and less time housewifeing merrily amongst the Varden, or admiringly admiring Roran's resplendently herculean prowess on the sparring fields. Nasuada had dropped a helpful hint, however, that Katrina might consider several tons of prime steak to be a very charming gift. Therefore, Roran hoped that this important mission would set everything back to normal.

"Good thinking, Roran!" Eragon's eyes lit up with anticipation and the knowledge that he was helping spread peace and prosperity throughout Alagaësia. "That should give them plenty of time to flee the city, and even pack their most treasured belongings first! All right, LET'S DO THIS!"

_Bring me back a steak_, Saphira called out after the cousins as they charged, sword and hammer drawn, toward the lights of the city.


	8. War and Cheese

War and Cheese

The middle-aged soldier was proud of his new station as Official Guardian of the Cheese. True, it was not the high-profile assignment that he had been hoping for when he transferred to Fli'im, but then again, he thought as the pleasant aroma of Mozzarella, Munster, and Monterey Jack wafted around him, he was a new recruit to the army, and new recruits always got the cushy jobs. After the tumult in his home town of Yg'r'aaele'blethgar that ended up costing him his post as gatekeeper, boredom was just the change he needed.

…

The plan was as simple as a plan could be, mainly because there wasn't one. Eragon and Roran were philosophically opposed to anything more complex than their favorite "Run, Charge, and WIN!" strategy. Stage One of the plan went very well, in Roran's expert opinion, as they managed to Run - in a forward direction, no less – towards Fli'im. However, after passing out from heat exhaustion, Roran and Eragon noticed that charging the enemy from several leagues away was a somewhat impracticable approach. Fortunately, they were always flexible enough to change battle plans at a moment's notice, so they immediately adjusted their attack strategy, and slowed to a stroll for a few hours until they were close enough to start running again.

After a brief half-mile charge they slammed into the gates and Eragon used up most of the energy he had managed to save up in his belt on blasting the unlocked front gate off its hinges, demolishing several cheerful, brightly-painted houses in the process. Roran, following his instincts and his usual practice, knocked out the gatekeeper with his hammer and then, eyes wary, stepped over a large flowery welcome mat into the hostile and warlike den that was Fli'im.

"WE ARE NOT HERE TO HARM YOU! WE COME IN PEACE!" Eragon murmured gently to the frightened crowd as Roran wiped blood off of his hammer. "Surrender to us thine cheese and steaks, and thou shalt be liberated from EEEVIIIIL! And we will let U flee as we raze UR city," he added with a wise, understanding smile as he raised his flaming Bright(steel)saber above his head.

…

Roran and Eragon encountered disappointingly little resistance as they battled their way through the cowering populace to the Cheese Vaults of Imperviousness. The middle-aged soldier, upon catching sight of Roran and his mighty hammer (well-renowned throughout Yg'r'aaele'blethgar), wisely chose to avoid confrontation, instead deciding to run, while screaming like a little girl, as quickly as possible in the opposite direction.

"Hey…" Roran muttered, gazing at the middle-aged soldier's rapidly retreating back, "…he looks sorta familiar…"

"Old friend, maybe?" Eragon suggested disinterestedly, as he pondered the most dramatic way to blow up the doors to the Cheese Vaults of Imperviousness.

Roran, ever observant, noticed the recently-healed hammer injury on the middle-aged soldier's skull.

"…Yeah, must be. I have this funny feeling that we've met before…"


	9. Name Shames

Name Shames

If the bunny's fur had not already been maroon, it would have flushed positively red with rage. His crimson eyes glowed with fury, and the underground former bunny village-turned-dragon bunker began to quake ominously. As pebbles and dirt rained from the ceiling, the Shade's voice boomed and echoed –

"YOU NAMED THAT DRAGON _WHAT!"_

Katrina cowered behind the now-mountainous mass of pink-and-purple plaid.

"B-but – the name suits him s-so _perfectly,_" she spluttered, as her new mentor hippity-hopped with freshly-ignited ire.

"YOU _FOOLS_ can't possibly expect the ignorant masses to take you seriously with a name like – a name like – like – PLAIDEY! What possibly _possessed_ you to think that _Plaidey_ was an intimidating name for a ferocious, fire-breathing –"

"Says the shade who is _possessing_ the body of a bunny…" muttered Katrina defensively, her arms crossed angrily over her chest. "I mean, c'mon, it's simple, it's to the point, it fits his appearance – after all, Saphira is sapphire-colored and all! Why shouldn't a plaid-patterned dragon–"

_My opinions are in harmony with those of my rider_, chimed in Plaidey the Dragon cheerily. _I delight in the simple elegance of these syllables and their appropriateness to my physical morphology, and I thus feel inclined to retain my choice of self-nomenclature. And geez, be glad I didn't go for _Pinky_ the dragon…_

"And anyway, we didn't name him just to benefit Nasuada and her political machinations!" cried Katrina indignantly.

_Yeah!_ huffed Plaidey, as a cloud of smoke billowed out his nostrils. _Did you know she wants my hatch-day to be named an official holiday of the People's Republic of the Varden? The Magnificent Festival of the Blazing Amazing Patterned Reptile, or something like that."_

"Hah!" Flufflysnuffles the Shadebunny's ears twitched in unmistakable glee. "Saphira will be totes jelly 'bout that, eh?"

"No," pouted Katrina, "Actually, I don't think it will be at all to her taste, jam or otherwise. And _I _don't want to be the one to tell her. In fact, by the time she and my dummy-in-law return, we plan to be long skip-a-doodle gone from the Varden."

Evil, lepine ears twitched again, giving off an air of sly, opportunistic intrigue. "Leaving so soon? Well, you won't get far without a mentor to guide you along the, ah, righteous path. And I think I know just the shade … er, _bunny …_ for the job."

**A/N: Oh yes, and that middle-aged soldier from Chapter 8 has indeed appeared elsewhere ... see our profile for more delicious details of delectability. MUWAHAHAHA!**


	10. Emô Pain in Urû'baen

Chapter 10: Emô Pain in Urû'baen

The dark black cloak on King Galbatorix's imposing shoulders billowed behind him as he strode swiftly toward the conference chamber. Every now and then a servant, poisoned by the malicious lies of the Varden, would avert his eyes or shiver as the King passed. Little did they know how every little shudder of fear crushed at his tender, anguished soul, or that the heavy black boots that rang ominously on the cold stone floor were actually ergonomically-designed faux-leather, made by disadvantaged orphan bunnies from up-cycled, organic plant fiber.

Galbatorix entered the meeting room and looked around to see Thorn curled up against the polished marble wall, and caught sight of Murtagh - no, _Emotaugh_, Galbatorix corrected himself – slumped in a shadowy corner, hiding behind the jet-black hair slicked down over his eyes with a mixture of sculpting gel and rancid bear fat. The young man was cloaked in an air of mysteriousness, as well as an actual cloak woven out of black leather, iron-studded velvet, and the darkness of his pain. Only Galbatorix's loyal retainer Cherryberry Creampuff had deigned to sit at the mahogany meeting-table in the center of the room.

King Galbatorix sunk into the throne-like chair at the head of the table and nodded wearily to Cherryberry Creampuff. "Tell them the grave news, my hoppity friend."

Cherryberry Creampuff bounced briskly to attention and squeaked out, "The Imperial underground espionage network has recently reported to me that a poor bunny has fallen under the influence of a Shade! Yes, a Shade! This atrocity cannot be allowed to continue! Thorn and Murtagh, together you and I will form a specialized task force with one purpose and one purpose only: find this abomination of nature and blow it up with extreme prejudice and lots of exploding!" Cherryberry Creampuff was hopping on the edge of his seat, and one of his ears was twitching with rage as he thumped angrily on the chair seat with his foot.

"Alas," added Galbatorix mournfully, "Cherryberry Creampuff tells it true. We must eliminate this threat, else the peace and prosperity of Alagaësia shall crumble and fall."

Emotaugh sighed a sigh of deep-souled anguish as he reached into the empty echoing depths of his black, black soul and, just barely, summoned the strength to turn his head and shrug one apathetic, tortured shoulder in the general direction of his liege.

"Eh, whatever," he muttered. Then he closed his eyes again, hoping that maybe, just maybe, this new trial might free him from the painful, agonizing cage that was his sunless life. Failing that, at least Cherryberry Creampuff might one day remember that he preferred to be called _Emotaugh_, for that was the only name that truly expressed the bleak and echoing misery of his existence.

_Yeah, tell me about it_, added Emotaugh's only friend, his sole ray of fire-breathing sunshine to light the black tunnel that stretched infinitely onward into oblivion. _I've told him, like, a hundred times – its Thorn of the Bleak Rose of Everlasting Torment. Sooo much cooler._


	11. Gouda and Evil

Gouda and Evil

Eragon, his mouth overflowing with grated cheddar, brought his sword crashing down and furiously impaled the glowing blade upon a recalcitrant wheel of Pecorino Romano.  
"ALAS, I THINK WE MAY HAVE A PROBLEM!" Roran shouted with unrestrained glee.  
"Whaff iff it?" Eragon replied through a mouthful of cheese.  
"I COULD ONLY FIT 300 POUNDS OF THE CHEESE ON SAPHIRA! WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO ABOUT THE REST AND ALL OF THE MEAT? WE CANNOT ABANDON IT! NO CHEESE LEFT BEHIND!"  
"Sapheephuh-" Eragon choked on the large chunk of cottage cheese he was now digging into. Realizing that his speech was completely unintelligible, he then remembered that he could talk to his magical dragon through his mind powers.  
_Sapheepha - uh, I mean Saphira - do you think you can carry supplies in your claws, too?_  
Saphira trembled, and then collapsed under the sheer weight of cheese on her back. Eragon swallowed his mouthful of cheese, then turned to his good buddy Roran.  
"This might be a problem," he said, devastated. "Oh, if only we could find some other way of moving the cheese without having to carry it! For the furious fight for freedom shall be in desperate straits if we cannot transport these vital victuals to the Varden."  
Roran, crushed by the threat of imminent failure, cast his eyes desperately about the room. He caught sight of the wooden beams of the Cheese Vaults of Imperviousness – the elastic conveyor belt of the cheese factory – the giant crosshairs which adorned the Cheese Vault of Imperviousness' Official Coat of Arms. Roran, after all, had a brain like a mousetrap – simple and violent, but devilishly effective when cheese was involved. An unusually sly grin spread over Roran's blockheaded face.  
"WAIT!" he shouted. "I HAVE AN IDEA!"

...

Several hours later, the cowering townspeople, who had been coerced into "helping the cause of freedom," dragged out the veiled contraption. Saphira, now liberated from the painful cheese mountain, gripped the veil in her teeth and pulled it off. The giant blanket of silk fluttered dramatically to the flagstones of Fli'im's center square.

There stood a glittering, towering monstrosity of a slingshot, pointed directly toward the People's Republic of the Varden. It was loaded with a single projectile - a wheel of well-aged cheese.

...

Nasuada was sitting in her personal chambers, poring over a recent memo informing her that, soon after she sent Roran and Eragon on their most recent mission, an ancient and bountiful cheese storage vault had been discovered directly underneath her palace chamber. Suddenly, a soldier burst into her chamber and breathlessly gasped out, "My lady! We are under attack!"  
"What?" Nasuada started from her chair. "By whom?"  
"We are not quite sure, b-but it appears that several hundred pounds of cheese are falling from the sky at an unusually high rate. We are - alarmed, your highness. And slightly bemused!"  
Nasuada looked out of her tent at the carnage as several wheels of fiery cheese slammed into the fortress walls, cracking the very foundations and creating a smoking crater of superheated Smoked Gouda.  
Nasuada grabbed a toasting fork and shook it furiously at the heavens, as cheesy missiles continued to rain down from above, backlit against the blood-red sunset. "War, I have seen. Carnage, I have cheerily participated in. But never, never could I have imagined a deed of such dastardly cruelty. _Cuuuurse yooooouuuuuu, Galbatoriiiiiiiiiix!_"


	12. Blunders and BUNS

Blunders and BUNS

General Cherryberry Creampuff felt the wind rising up the mountainside rustle through his pink fur as he gazed down across the sweeping plains below. His trained military eye took in the pockmarks of recent battle that scarred the rustic Alagaësian landscape. He then turned, with a troubled flick of his whiskers, to his trusty subordinate Snugglemittens.

"I sense trouble in the Varden Base. See the wisps of smoke rising from across Lake Tüdosten? And even at this distance, one can detect the foul odor of charred dairy products. This may present an ideal opportunity for infiltration. Snugglemittens, I want a full reconnaissance report by the time the moon rises."

Snugglemittens, head Information Officer for the elite Bunny Underground Network of Spies (BUNS), twitched one velvety, periwinkle ear in salute, and hopped briskly along one of the many wandering paths that crosshatched Mount Kër-trômit'aistën''nëi'ii. The rabbit was soon enveloped in a cloak of shadowy mist.

General Creampuff loped off reluctantly to interact with his intractably antisocial traveling companions.

"I sense a nearby presence shrouded in darkness. We are drawing near our goal," General Creampuff said to Emotaugh. "Best be wary, this close to Varden territory."

Emotaugh raised one tortured eyebrow and muttered, "Alas, maybe then I will draw near to someone whose darkness of heart nearly matches the pitch-black hue of my mangled soul. Perhaps then I might find the answer to all the pain that Thorn of the Bleak Rose of Everlasting Torment and I have, thus far in our miserable, sunlight-starved existence, shared only between our two agonized selves."

"Emotaugh, brother in misery, you left out the most awesomest part of all!" piped up Thorn of the Bleak Rose of Everlasting Torment. "We, you and me, bro, we can blast that eeeevil shade to smithereens! That'll be cool, eh Emotaugh? Like, so totes epic, amirite?"

Emotaugh tried to shake his head in despondent apathy, but the wind screaming across the mountaintop blew his matted locks into his mouth and eyes. Blinded, he choked on his own hair and tripped over a rock, which sent him tumbling down the side of Mount Kër-trômit'aistën''nëi'ii.

He awoke in a campsite. A dark-haired young girl was staring at him with hostile lavender eyes.


End file.
